Legend of Drizzt: The Legend Returns
by Eldritch Librarian
Summary: While the threat of orcs is hanging heavy above the Mithral Hall, a new goddess is born and immediately decides to have a bit of fun. Who is this mysterious warrior she resurrected? Read on to find out! Set around the "Orc King" and blissfully ignores all the events after it.
1. Foreword

**_FOREWORD_**

 **Greetings, my dear readers!**

 **This fanfic is set in the world of Forgotten Realms, so all characters that appear in it belong to R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast… Of course, everyone except for the Authoress/Mistress, who belongs to me. Well, she kind of** ** _is_** **me, but let's not confuse you any further. Feel free to press the link to the next chapter and start reading!**

 **Also, a word of warning. This fic takes place _somewhere around "The Orc King"_** ** _,_** **so there may be a spoiler or two. I haven't read the book for a while, so, if you see anything out of ordinary, tell me. However, once I'll get my hands on the book again, I will make sure that all the mistakes will be fixed.**

 **Have a wonderful day/night/whenever you're reading this!**

 **-positive**


	2. Prologue

**_PROLOGUE_**

First, there was nothing.

Just the endless blackness of void.

Then, a spark lit up.

Then another.

And another.

And millions and millions of little stars, flying to the first one and joining together with a flash of light so bright that it filled the entire void.

A pair or amethyst eyes opened, scanning her surroundings (or lack of thereof) with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

The newborn goddess stretched, as if awoken from a long nap, conjured a black and white outfit for herself with a graceful flick of a wrist and sighed.

'There, much better.' She said, finally satisfied with her look.

Humming a merry tune, she opened up an interdimentional window, from which she could watch all the petty doings of mortals without letting them know of her actions.

After checking on some unfortunate souls whose lives she wasn't quite satisfied with, (a romantic reunion here, a miracle there, a bloody and painful death elsewhere…) she turned her attention to a certain dwarven stronghold, a home of a certain drow ranger, currently being swarmed from all sides by orcs, goblins and giants.

The goddess frowned, zooming in on the drow and his companions to get a better image of the situation. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Oh no, no and no! She knew that the situation was bad, but in her greatest nightmares she couldn't imagine it being _that_ bad!

'I have to do something!' The goddess decided, pacing in circles in the middle of void. 'But what?'

Then an idea struck her.

She smiled, and the smile grew and grew, until it was so wide that she couldn't keep her mouth closed, which resulted in almost a manic giggle escaping her lips.

'Yes, yes yes!' she clapped her hands in excitement, jumping around happily as a plan began to form inside her head. 'Yes, this is going to be _perfect!_ '

She stopped jumping abruptly, and returned to pacing in circles, lost in her thoughts.

'Ah, but there is so much to do, to find, to arrange, to prepare, to equip, to resurrect, to obliterate...I mustn't waste any more time! Oh, so much fun awaits!'

And with a snap of her fingers and a cloud of grey smoke, she was gone, a ghost of a childish giggle still lingering in the void.


	3. Chapter 1: So Much To Find

_**Chapter 1**_

When she appeared in the realm of the dead, she was truly taken aback by the number of souls that resided there. She knew that there is far more dead than living, but come on!

"I wonder if there is some sort of a filter that allows you to find who you want." she mused, looking around. "Of course, there is no reason as to why would something like that exist, but that would make things a lot easier for me!"

After finding out that there isn't, in fact, any way to find the soul she wanted among the mass of dead people, the goddess sighed exasperatedly and decided that she had to make one herself. She waved her hand, conjuring a giant book filled with thousands and thousands of pages.

"There, much better!" She grinned, opening the Book of the Dead on the right page. Her eyes immediately found the name she was looking for.

"There you are, my little _shebali_!" she tapped the name. Immediately, the letters began to glow and lift off the page, turning into a silvery mist that she caught into a little glass orb.

Shutting the book and disposing of it in a short flash of light, the goddess hid the sphere in one of her multiple pockets and vanished, leaving a crowd of confused souls, not exactly sure what just happened.


	4. Chapter 2: So Much To Arrange

_**Chapter 2**_

First, there was death.

Death wasn't too bad, if he had to be honest. Yes, he was dead, but at least no one was bothering him…

…Until now.

"Wakey wakey, sleepyhead!" a cheerful voice sounded inside his head. "Time to rise and shine!"

His eyes snapped open, and he sat up, looking around. He was still dead, but sure enough someone was bothering him. There was nothing around him. Just void and the simple wooden table he was sitting on…

…And a woman.

She was rather tall and had pale skin, as well as long, pointy ears, but she didn't really resemble an elf. She had a heart-shaped face framed with messy, brown hair tied in a messy bun, with some loose strands sticking out here and there and a long fringe that ended just above her thin eyebrows. A tiny, red dragon tattoo, its wings spread wide, has found its place on her left cheek, almost above one of strikingly amethyst eyes, glinting with amusement. She wore a black shirt with silver ornaments and long, wide, white sleeves adorned with black ornaments, as well as a simple pair of trousers and grey leather boots. Her lips were curled in an amused smirk as she observed him from some distance.

He stood up uneasily, half expecting to fall into the void, but discovered that he could stand steadily, as if on solid ground.

"Who are you?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously and wishing that he had his weapons. "What do you want from me?"

The woman's smile widened as she approached him noiselessly.

"I, my little half-dead darling, am the Authoress." She introduced herself. "However, you may as well call me Mistress. I don't mind which."

She waved her hand carelessly, and immediately they were in a warm, cosy room with two armchairs, a table and a fireplace. She sat down and gestured him to do the same.

"I'm a goddess." She continued, summoning a bottle of wine (1342 - 'Dragon's Blood') and setting it on the table, along with a pair of tall wine glasses, already full. "I create, I manipulate, I destroy, all that stuff. Now, why wou…"

"Hold on!" he interrupted her, ignoring the alcohol. He was sure that he'll need his head as clear as possible for what was about to come. "If you're a goddess, then how come you're not in the pantheon? How come I've never heard of you?"

"Oh, I'm relatively new here." She explained, taking a small sip from her glass. "I'm glad that you've asked, though, because I was beginning to worry that the only sharp thing about you are your weapons." He didn't respond, but didn't lower his glare, either.

The goddess laughed. "Alright, Mr. Deathglare, stop drilling your pretty little eyes into me or I'll scoop them out with a rusty spoon."

Well… That was unexpected. His eyes immediately found another fifty more interesting things to glare on.

She waved her hand dismissively, changing the subject. "Back to the topic of why you're here… Eyes on me, dear. Yes, that's better. No more deathglares, though… You're here because a certain drow ranger and his merry companions are in a bit of trouble with some orcs, so I would love you to give them a hand."

He frowned. Helping a drow. With orcs. He wasn't sure which side he preferred. However, as he looked deep into those amethyst orbs, he saw that under the happy, childish façade there was mind far more cunning than a most cunning matron's, far more vile than a most evil dragon's, far more psychopathic than a most insane wizard's and far more dangerous than any other god's. She was definitely the _last_ person he wanted to disagree with, so he asked:

"How many orcs?"

"Thousands." She replied, her innocent, playful façade still up. "Plus hundreds of giants and goblins. Don't fret, however, for you'll be sufficiently prepared, and the reward is definitely worth it."

"Why?" he asked. "Why are you doing this? Who is the drow ranger you want me to save?"

A smile appeared on her lips, not playful, not innocent, but a smile of a predator who sees that their prey has nowhere else to go.

"Drizzt Do'Urden."

 **xXx**

After the initial shock, he looked at her in a completely different way.

"So, are you up for the job?" the goddess asked, her expression turning innocent again.

She knew what the answer was even before he nodded.


	5. Chapter 3: So Much To Prepare

**_CHAPTER 3_**

"So, what are we going to do now?" he asked when they appeared in a small, dark, damp room with its walls lined with shelves containing ancient books, jars filled with suspicious substances and labelled with different languages and candles made of different coloured, foul-smelling wax. How did she collect so much after existing for only a few hours, he didn't know. At the centre of the room, there was a stone table, big enough for a humanoid to lay on, with four chains to bind arms and legs. He didn't like that place.

"First of all, my pet," the Authoress put on an apron that might've once been white, but now it was stained with countless stains of dried blood. "We're going to _prepare_ you."

He took a step back, a cacophony of alarm bells screaming inside his head, telling him to run as fast as his legs could carry him… but where? The room had no doors, and she was a goddess, after all! He didn't stand a chance against her, and she knew it.

With a simple gesture, she sent the chains to wrap themselves around his ankles and wrists and pull him back on the table, binding him so that he couldn't escape. The Authoress approached him, her grin almost unnaturally wide, showing her teeth that were definitely too sharp.

Another gesture and he was unable to speak, unable to scream. The goddess pulled a mask on her face and took out a knife, the blade short, but razor sharp, and began to work.


	6. Chapter 4: So Much To Equip

**_CHAPTER 4_**

During the next few hours after the "preparations", he was drifting in and out of consciousness; the exhaustion lulling him into nothingness, and the pain waking him up. He wasn't sure how long it lasted until a pair of hands has forced his jaws open and a sickeningly sweet, cold liquid was poured down his throat.

His eyes snapped open, and he sat up, cringing when the numerous wounds have protested against such a sudden movement, and looked around. He was in a soft, comfortable bed in a tiny but cosy room. The walls were painted dark orange and the floor was wooden and covered with a thick, crimson carpet. There was a table, a chair, a wardrobe, his bed and a little nightstand, on top of which there stood a tiny vial filled with a bright blue liquid. There was a letter beside it:

 _Drink it. It will make you feel better. No, it's not poisoned. Why would I go through all that mess to poison you? Anyway, drink it and don't be a baby. Once you're ready, get out of bed and walk around a bit to get your muscles warmed up. Then pick up the gem from the table and say: "skok". It will teleport you to me, but only when you're ready!_

 _Take your time and gather your strength. You'll need it rather sooner than later._

 _Get well soon!  
_

 _The Authoress_

He frowned at the paper, but took the bottle anyway. The contents were so sweet that it almost made him nauseous, and he realised that the potion must be a more concentrated version of the liquid he was given earlier, and if that liquid eased the pain enough for him to stay awake, then maybe a more concentrated dose would heal his wounds!

He downed the potion, fighting the urge to vomit from the sweetness, but immediately decided that it was worth the discomfort. All his wounds were healed!

'She's right.' He thought, standing up and catching the nightstand for support. 'I need some exercise.'

 **xXx**

For the next thirty or so minutes he walked around the room, did some basic stretches, found some clothes in the wardrobe, put them on, found some practice weapons, (which delighted him beyond measure) and trained for a while to remember his old skills. At last, he decided that he was ready, and approached the table. A ruby the size of his fist blinked at him cheerfully. He wondered how much it's worth. He picked it up and said _"skok"_.

There was a short flash of light and he appeared in the same room he and the goddess talked earlier. The fire was cracking away in the fireplace, illuminating the goddess's profile and reflecting in the blade of the dagger she was playing with. She rose from her armchair when he appeared, greeting him with an angelic smile that could fool anyone who wasn't dissected alive by her only a few hours before.

"Feeling better?" she asked innocently.

" _Vith dos_." he spat. "What did you do to me?"

The goddess rolled her eyes, falling back into her armchair. "First of all, language. Don't you _vith dos_ me or I'll do something far more unpleasant than what I did earlier."

He knew that she could, and definitely would fulfil her threat, so he allowed her to continue without interrupting.

"Second of all," she carried on, "it was necessary. Besides, once you'll learn about your new powers, you'll forgive me the…" she coughed, "... _drastic_ measures I had to undertake."

"Really?" his eyebrows rode up almost to his hairline. "Since I could feel everything you did, those powers better be good."

She smiled, her eyes drilling into his. "Oh, you'll _love_ them, my pet." She drawled, but made no further comments.

 **xXx**

He almost fainted when they appeared in the weapon hall.

Although the chamber itself was made of simple stone painted white, the more impotant thing was what the Authoress stored in there:

The weapon racks positioned all around the hall were packed with numerous weapons of all shape, size and material: Dwarven battleaxes, bone knives from the faraway jungles of Chult, longbows crafted lovingly by wood elves, quivers filled with deadly arrows, swords, rapiers, battlehammers, morningstars... and that wasn't even the end!

Beside the weapon racks, there stood multiple stands and shelves, almost cracking under the weight of uncountable suits of armour, ranging from simple leather to dragon scales as well as helmets, gloves and gauntlets, boots, cloaks folded neatly on the shelves, belts adorned with priceless gems from all around the world.

To put it shortly, the goddess had _everything_.

"Pick an armour and some weapons." The Authoress commanded, snapping him back to reality. "All of them are the same for now, but soon we'll make them far more powerful than most of the artifacts in Faerun."

After taking a long stroll around the room, trying on armour and swinging various weapons, he emerged, wearing a pitch black scale armour, a drow _piwawfi_ cloak, boots made from reinforced leather and gauntlets made from some dark metal he couldn't recognise. By his belt there hung a pair of long swords, one with its blade blacker than Lolth's heart and a ruby set on the pommel, while the other blade was quite ordinary-looking, but had a streak or a green metal running through the fuller, right up to the point. The hilt was black with the guard made of mithril. He didn't choose any headgear, as he reckoned that it would only obscure his vision in battle.

The Authoress nodded approvingly when he approached her.

"Good choice of equipment." She remarked, her eyes scanning the items carefully. "Now, let's give them some _charm_."

There was a door at the end of the hall, through which she led him into a small, empty chamber lit only by a few torches. The walls were made of bare stone and the room was rather dull when compared to the ones he has visited.

The goddess stood facing him, eyes closed, obviously preparing herself mentally for casting spells.

"You have chosen a cloak made by your kin," she began, gesturing at his cloak. "so it will be no good in the world Above to you, unless we'll do something about it. Take it off."

After doing so, he folded it neatly and handed it to her. The goddess closed her eyes, her dragon tattoo glowing bright red as she poured her magic into the material.

"Now it will withstand the sun as well as any other cloak made on the surface would." She said when she was done, handing it back to him. "Now, your armour. It is made of a black dragon's scales, I see, so it alone grants you partial immunity over acid."

She looked up at him, smiling knowingly, and he winced, remembering his last (more than quite unpleasant) encounter with acid.

"But _partial_ immunity over acid alone is far from enough, so we'll improve it a little as well." She laid her hands on his chest, muttering a few words, and moved away after the spell was complete.

"The armour now grants you complete immunity over acid, as well as partial immunity over other elements, as well as magic. The rest of your outfit is the same, but the boots also improve the speed of your movements enough to give you an advantage in battle, but not lose control over your movements. Lastly, your swords. Give me the black one."

She took it in her hands, and as she poured her magic into it, the ruby on the pommel grew righter and brighter along with her tattoo, and its light faded away when she finished.

"This sword has been forged solely to fight the creaturess of evil, such as demons, the undead and yes, orcs. Be careful, however. Just as Drizzt Do'Urden's scimitar hungers for demons, this one hungers for evil, and sometimes that can get you in the middle of a big trouble. Use it wisely and learn to control it. Now, the other one."

This time the incantation took slightly longer, so he took a moment to examine his new sword. The ruby blinked to him almost mischievously, as if the blade was feeling his desire to kill the orcs storming the Mithral Hall, and agreed with him wholeheartedly. He decided that he liked it.

When the spell was finished, the Authoress explained to him that the sword grants him a lesser degree of immunity over magic but, combined with his outfit, he could easily "flip off" any wizard and do it again while watching the spells bounce off him, back towards the unfortunate spellcaster. The blade is also very sharp and doesn't need polishing, so he shouldn't bother.

When both swords were safe in their scabbards, the goddess transported them back to the room with the table and the fireplace.

"You're almost ready." She said, filling both glasses with wine. "Now all you need is to learn about your abilities, be resurrected and off you go on your mini orc genocide! We should really drink for that." She raised her glass, and he raised his, nodding in agreement.

After she drank, the goddess set down her glass and grinned. "Alright. Let's get down to business. Ready?"

He nodded, finishing his wine.

"You're basically immortal."

He choked on the wine and spat it out, coughing. "Excuse me?!"

She laughed at his reaction. "Well, not fully." She explained. "You get one minute of absolute invulnerability after one kill, two after two kills, three after three kills and so on, up to one hour. Also, I've improved your eyes and skin enough to make sure that the sun won't harm you when you appear on the surface. You will also be completely fluent in Common, which will certainly spare you some awkward situations. All that, plus the enchantments I've put on your gear. No magic will dispel them and they won't wear off, no matter how much time passes."

He whistled, looking down at himself. Yes, that was _definitely_ worth the pain he went through.

"Now, before I drop you off near the Mithral Hall, I'll have to give you a brief outline of what happened there." She pressed two fingers to his forehead, and a stream of images and sounds flooded his head. Fights, blood, snow, metal, fire and orcs, orcs, orcs…

He pulled away, breathing heavily and clutching his head. The goddess waited patiently until he raised it again to look at her.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes." She said, summoning four packets, wrapped tightly in different coloured material. "I want you to give those to Drizzt and his companions. They'll need them. The purple one is for the woman, the orange for the dwarf, the blue one for the halfling and the green one for the ranger. Don't get them mixed around or bad things will happen!" She laughed. "Or, at least, very interesting and amusing things."

"Is that it?" he asked, gathering the packets. "Can I go now?"

The Authoress smiled one of her terrifying smiles. "Of course, my pet. Have a good hunt!"

He smiled back, for the first time since he met her. A wolf's smile. "Yes, Mistress."


	7. Chapter 5: So Much To Resurrect

**_CHAPTER 5_**

When he appeared in a small valley a few miles from the battlefield, he almost choked on his first gulp of air. The air was fresh and cool, so different to that in Underdark... All the colours were so vibrant, so lively that he almost cried. The Surface was so beautiful...

When he finally got used to having a living body, he set out in the direction of the distant sounds of battle.

The goddess was right, as he soon found out. The sun didn't hurt his eyes, but he preferred to have his hood on, not to attract any unwanted attention. After walking for a bit, he even started to whistle a merry tune, but as the sounds of the battle grew nearer, he stopped whistling and quickened his pace, adrenaline already coursing through his veins. His heart was hammering itself out of his chest in ecstasy and anticipation, and a grin stretched on his lips as he ran.

Gods knew that those orcs were _doomed_.

 **xXx**

The Companions of the Hall were hopeless.

Guenhwyvar fell in battle and had to return to the Astral Plane to heal.

Bruenor had a nasty wound on his shoulder that was severely slowing him in battle.

Tears were streaming down Regis's cheeks as he struggled, without too much success, to keep the goblins away.

Catti-brie couldn't shoot her arrows fast enough, her wounded leg definitely not making it any easier for her.

Drizzt Do'Urden, the famed ranger, who survived spiders, dragons, demons and more, was slowly feeling that he'll meet his dead father more sooner than later…

…And by Gods, he was right.

Suddenly, the companions noticed a figure standing on the hill a bit behind their swarming opponents.

"Weep no more, little ones." The stranger said, ripping off his hood. Drizzt's eyes widened in disbelief and shock when he recognised the stranger.

Zaknafein Do'Urden grinned, which caused a few orcs to drop their weapons and run away in terror. He drew out his blades.

"Daddy's here."


	8. Author's Note

**Hi everyone!**

 **Sorry, but it's just me. No epic orc-slashing sessions (for now), no adorable reunions (for now), but me.**

 **See, there is quite a bit going on right now, so I won't have time to update this fic, no matter how much I want to. However, I should get back to writing closer to the summer holidays, so please bear with me!**

 **Another thing is that some kind person has pointed out that some words used in this fic (such as 'sweetie') aren't too appropriate to the time frame, and I'm really grateful for that, since I wasn't aware of that! Thank you, InFeCtEdSoApY, for telling me, I'll try my best to fix my mistakes. Speaking of mistakes, if you see any, tell me! I won't feel offended as I'm more of a rookie writer than a full-blown professional like Mr. Salvatore, so I'd appreciate some constructive critique! (and maybe meeting a nice beta...)**

 **To sum it up, keep reading and reviewing my stuff! I promise to update as fast as possible. Have a wonderful day/night/whenever you're reading this!**

 **-positive**


	9. Chapter 6: So Much To Obliterate

**_CHAPTER 6_**

And then all Nine Hells broke loose…

Orcs were falling like flies, butchered by a pair of blades working in perfect unison.

Gallons of blood poured from slit throats, torsos and limbs.

The sounds of the battle were drowned in countless screams.

The orcs weren't so invincible anymore.

Somewhere among that chaos, there stood Drizzt Do'Urden, his eyes open almost as wide as his mouth, unable to lift his gaze off his father, whom he never dreamt he could see again.

Yet there he was! Cutting, slashing, piercing and gutting any orc, goblin or giant – giant! - that stood in his way. Not a single scratch was visible on the weapon master's body, and he danced, cutting down one enemy after another, his swords singing in the air as they continued their almost hypnotic dance.

A sudden, heavy blow broke the ranger from his trance. Scimitars fell out of his hands, and he hit the bloodstained ground, gasping for air. Above him there stood Obould Many Arrows himself, his ugly face inside the helmet twisted in the image of pure rage.

"You won't take my victory away from me, ranger!" he roared, "And no one from your kin will, either."

The orc raised his sword…

 **xXx**

Zaknafein was laughing.

He never thought that he would laugh while being surrounded by countless enemies, but he did.

He was killing creatures of evil, and he _loved_ it.

The black sword –he didn't come up with a name for it yet- was feasting away on his enemies, each kill making it sharper and more deadly. The ruby was shining brighter after each kill, as if fuelled by the blood it spilled.

As for the other sword, when the Authoress said that the blade was sharp, he thought it only meant "slightly sharper than average", not "slicing through a giant's leg like butter", but it's not like he was complaining or anything.

After cutting himself enough space to allow a breath, the weapon master looked around. Surely, king Obould must be somewhere nearby…

…his eyes landed on a particularly large orc, dresses from neck to toe in thick, metal armour, his head guarded by an enormous helmet that seemed to be made from a skull.

"That must be him." Zak decided, and was just about to begin cutting himself a path to him when he noticed something else.

All the battlejoy has evaporated from his head in an instant, replaced by fury.

"Don't you dare, you pig-faced, dung-brained _i_ _blith!"_ he yelled, gutting a nearby goblin and began to tear through the swarming enemies towards them, spitting out curses in both Common and drow.

"Don't you dare to raise your sword against my son!"

 **xXx**

Everything slowed down.

The battle around them…

His life flashing before his eyes…

Obould's falling sword…

Drizzt closed his eyes, awaiting death.

 **xXx**

A sword pierced through flesh, and everything was over.


	10. Chapter 7: So Much To Explain

**_CHAPTER 7_**

 ** _"_** ** _Drizzt!"_**

Voices…

 _"_ _Drizzt, get up!"_

So familiar…

 _"_ _Are you hurt? Regis, help me!"_

What happened?... Can't move…

 _"_ _Come on, one more push!"_

Memories… returning…

 _"_ _Drizzt, wake up!"_

Battle, Obould, pain, blood everywhere…

 _"_ _Wait, I think he's waking up… "_

What happened?

 **xXx**

Drizzt opened his eyes to see his companions looking down at him, the looks of concern on their faces quickly replaced by relief.

"Yer awake, elf!" Bruenor roared, helping him up and dusting him off. "We were worried that we lost ye!"

"What happened?" He asked. His throat was dry, so Regis handed him a waterskin.

He drank, cherishing every single drop. "All I remember was being on the ground and Obould raising his sword at me… Where is he now?"

"Ye know…" Catti-brie began, handing him his scimitars, "I don't think ye should worry about him anymore." She gestured to his right.

Indeed, he shouldn't. The former orc king was now lying right beside him, his body cut in half. The helmet was pulled off his head and his throat was slit about five times. Not only the throat, actually. Both parts of the carcass were cut in so many places that the ranger wondered how many warriors it took to take him down.

"Only one, actually." Regis said when he questioned him about it. "A drow fighter. He appeared out of nowhere recently and…" he swallowed before continuing. "Completely destroyed most of the orc army all by himself."

"Drow fighter…" the ranger repeated groggily. He did remember a blurred figure of one of his kind, slaughtering one enemy after another. Funny, but the stranger looked just like… No, that couldn't be right…

"We were busy in other parts of the battlefield, but everyone saw what happened." The halfling continued. "He appeared just when Obould was about to kill you and literally cut the blade in half!" he was gesticulating wildly as he talked. "Then, he dodged his fist, -he was so fast! Even faster than you! - and swung his own two swords, drawing more and more blood with each blow, as if Obould's armor wasn't there at all!"

"Two swords…" Drizzt muttered, more memories crystallizing in his head. No, it couldn't be…!

"And then he just sliced him in half, like that!" Regis screamed, waving his arms excitedly. "Blood was everywhere! And then…"

"Where is he now?!" the ranger looked around, his lavender eyes scanning the battlefield almost frantically, looking for a confirmation of his suspicions. "Where is the drow warrior?"

"Last time we saw him was when he raced towards the gates." Catti said, pointing at the main gates of the Mithral Hall. "The orcs were about to get in until he came along."

"Bah, I'm not saying that I'm ungrateful," her foster father grumbled "but he stole us most of the fun! He's a lot like ye, elf, ye know that?.. Drizzt?"

But Drizzt was gone, sprinting to the gates as fast as his bruises and exhaustion were allowing him to.

No, that wasn't possible! A trick, perhaps? An illusion? But why would anyone… He caught a glimpse of black, white and red among the mass of orcs, goblins and dwarves, and quickened his pace, not believing what his eyes and memories were telling him.

It just wasn't possible!

Or was it?...

 **xXx**

The fight was almost over when he got there. The whole battle was dying down, in fact. After Obould's death all the troops seem to have lost the motivation to fight, and were quickly taken down by the dwarves. Thanks to the stranger's help, the tables have turned to the Mithral Hall's favour, and, for the first time in months, the dwarves have won.

The remnants of the once powerful orc army have scattered all around the battlefield, chased by the Gutbusters, still hungry for some fresh orc blood.

The victory was bittersweet, however, as many have died in the war, and the Mithril Hall was badly damaged. Rumors have also been heard that the king's foster daughter will never be able to walk and fight again.

Drizzt approached the gates slowly, almost afraid of what he will see, or what he will not see. At that point the ranger was simply afraid that he will not find who he hoped he'll find, or that he'll find him among the dead, which he reckoned would be far worse.

He found him leaning against one of the less damaged fragments of a watch tower, cleaning one of his swords.

Two scimitars fell into the dirt.

Tears slid down Drizzt's cheeks, as he choked out one word, the only word that passed through his throat:

"Father?"

Zaknafein twitched, as if breaking from a trance, and looked up, lowering his sword. His eyes widened and immediately filled with tears.

"Drizzt?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

For a few seconds, time completely stopped, and everything was silent.

Fresh tears fell from Drizzt's eyes at the sound of his father's voice and the spell was broken. He darted towards him, almost tripping them both when he wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he could, genuinely afraid that he will disappear. At that moment he didn't care if it was a trick or an illusion. He didn't care about anything other than that his father was back from the dead. He did not care how, he did not care why, he was just happy that he was there.

Zak returned the embrace, chuckling. He still couldn't believe his luck. There he was, alive and well, just after slaying an entire army and being hugged to death by his own son!...

…He pushed Drizzt out to arm's length to avoid suffocation and looked at the proud warrior his son has become. Drizzt was much taller than he remembered, (although still about an inch shorter than Zak) looking almost like his reflection, only with lavender eyes, shorter, slightly messier hair and a different outfit. His gear has improved, too. It seemed that Drizzt has swapped his old scimitars for new, fine, surely enchanted blades, one of which was glowing light blue. He couldn't quite put his finger on what the second scimitar did, but he decided that there will be yet time for that.

His eyes found Drizzt's, and his smile widened. " _ussta dalharuk_ " he whispered, feeling more comfortable speaking drow than Common.

 _'_ _Ussta dalharuk'_ Drizzt repeated in his mind. _'My son.'_ He has never, ever been happier to hear his language, and hearing it from Zaknafein almost caused him to break down in tears again. This was simply too good to be true!

"H..How?" he managed to stutter out, feeling an uncontrollable grin stretching on his face. "How can this be? How are you here? _Why_ are you here? I…" He was cut off by his father's laughter.

"Still as talkative as when you were a kid." The weapon master exclaimed, wiping his tears. "There will be time for stories later, trust me. For now, I'm going to tell you that I've been sent down here to complete a few tasks, and the faster I fulfill them, the faster we'll get to talk."

He draped his arm around his son's shoulders, grinning. "I know quite a lot about the war with the orcs, but literally nothing about your earlier adventures, or how this place…" he swept his arm in a wide arc, indicating the Surface in general. "…works, which animals would kill me if I approached them, and all that. Care to explain later?"

Drizzt's grin, so wide that it was a miracle it didn't split his face open, was a definite 'yes'.

"Good! Now lead me to your companions!"

 **xXx**

Bruenor tore his axe from a dead goblin's back with a roar.

"How can those overgrown rats have such hard spines?" he complained, "By Moradin, an' I thought that trolls have hard bones!"

Catti-brie smirked from her position on a fallen fragment of a wall, delighted that her foster father was slowly returning back to his usual, grumpy self. He has been worryingly quiet since Wulfgar has left them. She wondered how the barbarian was doing.

"They're not as hard if you have a good blade, dwarf!" someone called, and the woman frowned. The voice was speaking in Common, but with a distinct drow accent. Could it be the stranger who saved them?

She turned in the direction from which the voice came from.

The first thing she noticed was Drizzt's grin, which was so wide that it almost hurt to look at it. Then, she noticed how similar the two elves looked, with the exception of armour, weapons, height and eye colour. The woman wondered why…

"My dear friends," the ranger began, "I have a truly great pleasure to introduce you to…"

"Zaknafein Do'Urden, the weapon master of house Do'Urden, the best fighter Menzoberranzan has ever known…" Zak interrupted, grinning and taking a deep, not-so-formal bow. "…and the father of that kid over there." He finished, gesturing at his son, whose grin somehow became even wider.

Regis's eyes (and mouth) widened and he almost choked on his drink. Bruenor lowered his axe, looking at him suspiciously, and Catti-brie raised her eyebrows. _That_ explained the resemblance. The only remaining question was…

"How…?" the halfling uttered after he was done coughing.

"Yeh, how?" the dwarf raised a bushy eyebrow at the newcomer. "Dead people don't jus' come back from the dead like tha'!"

Drizzt was just opening his mouth to speak, but his father gestured at him to keep silent.

"See, it's a little complex," he began. "but I'll try to keep it as simple as I can." He sat down on a pile of rubble big enough for him not to slide down and began:

"A certain goddess has been born recently, and decided to call herself the Authoress. The Authoress decided that you were having too much trouble fighting Obould, so she came up with a plan. First of all, she chose a fallen warrior (luckily, she had enough sense to choose me) to be her champion and prepared him for the task he had to fulfill. She gave him powers and equipment and told him to return to Faerun to destroy the orc army. How did she phrase it?... 'Do whatever you want as long as it comes down to you killing the orcs.' or something around that. Of course, the warrior was happy to oblige. Hells, who wouldn't be?!" he grinned before continuing.

"So, she resurrected the warrior and sent him down to slay Obould and his army. You know how that went, don't you? She also gave him a few packets, telling him to give one to each of the heroes of the Mithral Hall."

The weapon master stood up, dusted himself off and produced four packets, each one of different colour.

"The first one, she said," he carried on, approaching Catti-brie and handing her the purple packet, "is for the woman. She should drink all the vials and return to her roots, whatever that means." He moved on, leaving the woman wide-eyed.

"The second one is for the dwarf." He tossed the dwarf king the orange packet. "For any wounds he has received, as well as for his age. Once again, drink everything."

"Next, the halfling." The weapon master grinned again, leaving Bruenor grumbling behind him and approaching Regis, who backed away, unsure if he should trust him. "There is a little treat for him to help him return into shape, again, whatever that means." He tossed the poor halfling the blue packet.

"And lastly, for the ranger." He said, approaching his son and handing him a green packet. "She said that he should open it right away to get answers for all the questions. That's all I have to say." He took a step back and took a bow so exaggerated that, somewhere far, far away, Jarlaxle felt a fleeting, unexplainable feeling that somewhere out there, there is someone even more fabulous than him. It made him very anxious.

Everyone was quiet for a few seconds, each frowning down at their gifts, before Drizzt tore through the green-coloured paper and unravelled a small, wooden box with a dragon carving on the lid. Casting an unsure glance at his companions, he opened it.

A great flash of light exploded from the tiny box and before the five companions there stood an image of the Authoress in her full glory. Her amethyst eyes were glowing with holy omniscience and her black and white robes were flowing around her like a pair of wings.

She did not say a word, but everyone still heard the words in their heads.

 _"_ _Greetings, dear Companions of the Hall"_ Were the first words they heard _. "I see that my little weapon master has fulfilled his duty."_ She nodded at Zaknafein. _"Good job, my pet."_

"It was a pleasure, Mistress." He answered out loud. "But please stop calling me 'pet'. It annoys me."

The goddess laughed, the sound echoing in everyone's heads. _"Oh, I'm afraid that I cannot do that, my pet, for I find it simply too amusing to watch you make that cute, pouting face. Yes, this one. Ah, but I need to get back to business, do I not?"_ She turned back to the rest, leaving Zak frowning and muttering something about not being cute and making an indeed cute, pouty, annoyed face.

" _I'm sure that you have many questions regarding Zaknafein's return, my existence and your gifts, so feel free to ask them and I will do my absolute best to answer."_

"Very well." Drizzt began after casting an amused smirk in his father's direction. "If you're a goddess, then how come we haven't heard of you?"

The Authoress nodded, seemingly delighted with the question. _"I am the Authoress, the goddess of destiny. I was first born eons ago, soon after Ao has created your world, and I was in charge of the destinies of not only mortal races, but also the gods'. However, as you can imagine, the gods did not like someone being in control of their destinies, so they got together and, using their strongest powers, killed me and took their fates in their own hands."_

"Then how come…" Zaknafein began. He did not know about _that._

 _"_ _But no one can escape their destiny forever, can they? Not even gods. After a while, I returned."_ The goddess continued. _"However, since there are even more gods and goddesses than there were at the start, my powers have weakened. I can no longer control the destinies of the creatures assigned to other deities, and, since their powers are stronger than mine, no said deities. However, my power does extend to the beings that do not worship any god or goddess for one reason or another. Hence, I could change Zaknafein's destiny, and so bring him back to life and empower him enough to defeat the orc army."_

The silence that followed lasted for a long time, until Catti-brie's voice tore it apart.

"What are those?" she asked, gesturing at their gifts.

 _"_ _Oh, I made them because I wasn't too happy with your destinies."_ The goddess explained, waving her hand carelessly. _"Since I cannot control your destinies because each one of you is assigned to a deity, I did my best to come up with something that will at least push them in the right direction. Please, open your packet."_

Hesitantly, the woman opened the gift and took out three small, glass bottles filled with different coloured liquids. Zaknafein's eyes immediately caught the sight of a familiar, bright blue bottle, and he smirked.

 _"_ _Do me a favour and drink the blue first, please."_ The Authoress said, her eyes following Catti's every move. She smiled when the woman emptied the vial and coughed.

* * *

 **(A/N: I haven't read the books in original (English) and so I don't really know if I'm doing the accents right. If you see anything out of ordinary, tell me.)**


	11. Chapter 8: So Much To Fix

**_CHAPTER 8_**

The liquid was sweet.

Not the good kind of sweet, like a ripe strawberry, but sickeningly sweet, like a poison that will turn your blood into acid.

Suddenly, the woman felt odd warmth spreading across her body. The ever-present ache in her leg and lower back vanished, as if it wasn't there at all. The bruises and scratches she has received during battle disappeared as well, leaving her feeling strong and rested, as if awoken from a good night's sleep.

Catti-brie looked up at the goddess, wide eyed.

"My leg!" she exclaimed, taking a step before any of her companions did anything to stop her. "It… It doesn't hurt anymore!" A wide smile spread on her face as she took another step, then another, before looking up at the goddess. "You've healed me!"

 _"_ _Mostly."_ She corrected her. _"I'm sorry to tell you, but you still won't be able to bear children, as it's Beshaba's* field, not mine."_ The goddess giggled at her own joke before continuing. _"Don't be sad, however, as I brewed up something that should make up for it. Please drink the pink liquid."_

This time, the woman downed her drink without hesitation. Funny, but it tasted like fresh strawberries. However, she did not feel any change.

She turned to her companions to find them staring at her, eyes and mouths wide open.

 _"_ _You're young again!"_ The Authoress chirped, her smile widening.

Indeed, it seemed that Catti-brie has returned to the age of around twenty five, the few wrinkles scarring her face disappearing, leaving her face young, fresh and beautiful.

 _"_ _Now, to stay that way and spend some more time with your beloved ranger, drink the golden liquid."_

Hardly believing in what was happening, Catti-brie emptied the last vial. A slight electric current went through her body, chasing away any remaining signs of weariness that the first potion didn't wipe out.

 _"_ _Now that you're young, healthy, with an elf's lifespan and more than able to fight,"_ the goddess clapped her hands. _"There is no need for you to keep studying arcane magic. You are completely free to pick up your bow and sword again and become the fearless warrior princess we all know and love, which I would strongly encourage you to do."_

The woman nodded solemnly, barely able to contain her excitement. "That's what I'm going to do, then." She said. "Thank you."

 _"_ _You're absolutely welcome, darling! Now, let us move on to your foster father."_ The vision turned to the dwarf king, whose attitude towards her seem to have changed quite dramatically, as he looked at her with a lot more respect.

 _"_ _My, Bruenor, you sure are looking awful."_ She cooed, floating towards him. _"That wound on your shoulder is quite nasty indeed. Please open your gift and drink the blue potion"_

After the dwarf did as he was told, with only mild complaining about the nauseating sweetness, he took out the next bottle, pink, like the one Catti-brie drank.

 _"_ _As you can guess, this one will wipe away most of the grey from your beard. More time on Faerun means more time for looking for lost dwarf cities, for fights, more ale, more… Drink slowly, darling, or you will choke, and we don't want that. There, much better. Regis, honey, shut your mouth please, or some insect will fly in there. Now, the third vial will improve your strength and stamina a bit, so that you could hit harder, run faster and drink longer without passing out. Believe me, there will be tales sung about king Bruenor, the hardest drinker on this side of the Realms!"_

The aforementioned king emptied the brown bottle even faster than the other two, and snorted.

"Tha's more the way I like it!" he yelled before remembering who he was speaking to, and got down to one knee.

 _"_ _We're almost done. Regis?"_ the image turned to the halfling, who seemed more excited than scared now that he witnessed the power of the goddess's gifts.

"Y…Yes?" he stuttered out, ripping apart the blue paper, revealing a piece of cake. But not an ordinary piece of cake, oh no! It was warm, as if freshly baked, and smelled of a rich feast where only the finest food and drink were served. It smelled of roasted beef, mushroom soup, chicken stew, apple pie and many other culinary masterpieces at once. He stuffed it in his mouth without a second of hesitation.

 _"_ _Like it?"_ the goddess asked, observing his reaction.

Tears filled the halfling's eyes as a look of purest delight appeared on his face. He chewed and chewed, cherishing every second the heavenly cake spent in his mouth before finally swallowing.

"It… It's…" Regis was literally sobbing. "It's the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. I could at once taste cake, beef, chicken, apples, herbs, soup, mushrooms… "

The goddess laughed, gesturing at him to stop talking. _"I'm happy that you enjoyed it. You even look like you ate all those things, you know?"_

Surprised, the halfling looked down at himself and found that his belly grew so much that he could barely see his feet!

 _"_ _Wars are bad for halflings."_ The Authoress said, still smiling. _"They make them less merry and more starved. I personally like it more when they are merry and chubby like they are supposed to be. Now, since everything is sorted, I'm going to leave our favourite weapon master here with you. Do what you want with him, but preferably don't kill him. I've put a lot of work into him, and I wouldn't like it all to go down the drain. Any more questions?"_

"As a matter of fact, yes." Drizzt spoke up. "Do you know what is of our friend, Wulfgar? He left us a while ago and…"

"His destiny is in the hands of Tempus, not mine." The goddess said, her smile disappearing. "However, you may cross paths again if your destinies allow it. You never know."

With those words, she vanished.

The long silence that lasted afterwards was broken by Zaknafein's merry "So, who wants to tell me what I've missed since my unfortunate and rather painful demise?"

* * *

 **(A/N: *According to the Forgotten Realms Wiki, Beshaba is the goddess of misfortune, bad luck, accidents and random mischief. The Authoress made a joke about kids being the source of 'misfortune', 'bad luck', 'mischief' and 'accidents'. Just clearing it up in case people are confused.)**


	12. Chapter 9: So Much Fun Awaits!(epilogue)

**_EPILOGUE_**

Drizzt squinted suspiciously at the tiny bottle sitting innocently on the nightstand beside his bed. He was pretty sure that it wasn't there the night before. But again, a _lot_ has happened recently, so he wasn't even sure of that.

The bottle was made out of clear glass and the liquid inside was pale yellow, almost cream. There was a little note attached to it, which read:

 _Drow elves live bout 700-800 years on average. But 700 and 800 are such terrible numbers, so I have decided to round it up to 1000, as it's such a nice, whole number, wouldn't you agree? I promise to leave you alone for now._

 _Enjoy the rest of your life!_

 _-The Authoress_

 _(P.S. don't tell Mielikki.)_

The ranger frowned at the writing, before raising his eyebrows and drinking the liquid. It tasted faintly of vanilla. After putting on his armor and cloak, the ranger left his room and headed to the gates of the complex, where he promised to meet up with the rest of his friends.

A smile appeared on his lips when he thought of the newest addition to the company. He and Zaknafein have spent most of the previous evening discussing his adventures, laughing and sparring to see what skills the ranger has learned during the aforementioned adventures.

Drizzt felt the smile widen into a wide grin when he realized something: He hasn't introduced his father to Guenhwyvar. Something was telling him that it was going to be a very interesting day.

 **xXx**

"Slept well?" Zak grinned, elbowing Drizzt's shoulder. "Or were the bruises I gave you preventing you from grabbing a few hours' rest?"

His son grinned back, nodding and rubbing his shoulder where a big bruise was beginning to form. Both fighters have settled for wooden blades instead of their usual weapons, and both of them had a multitude of bruises made by the oaken weapons. Zak wouldn't admit it, but one particularly large bruise on his thigh was absolutely _killing him_.

Catti-brie, who was walking beside them, smiled at the scene. She was slowly beginning to like the older drow; he was a lot like his son… Only slightly more immature.

'But then again,' the woman though, 'from what Drizzt has told me about their life in Menzoberranzan, I guess that he is allowed to have a little bit of silliness, now that he's free from all that mess.'

"So, elf number two," Bruenor's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Ye'd most likely like ta know how yer son has been doing while ye were dead, eh?"

The weapon master nodded cheerfully.

"Indeed. While he has told me about most of his adventures last evening, I would very much like to hear what he has been _really_ up to, without any sugarcoating or conveniently omitting any more embarrassing moments."

"Father!" Drizzt exclaimed, looking genuinely offended while everybody else snickered. "I would never lie to you and you know it. Everything I've told you is totally and unquestionably true, and everyone present here can confirm that!"

"That depends…" the young woman chuckled, giving the suddenly distressed ranger a mischievous look. "Did he mention that, during our very first trip on the "Sea Sprite" he got so seasick that he couldn't leave the ship's side for a good hour?"

"Or that one time when, while chasing orcs, he slipped and slid all the way downhill before landing in a huge puddle of mud?" It seemed that Regis has decided to join the fun. "He was dirty from head to toe!"

This continued as the merry group strolled through the courtyard, laughing and teasing the poor ranger, whose face was growing redder with each embarrassing memory, while his father just listened with growing amusement before deciding that the poor boy has had enough.

"Well," he coughed. "He sure has forgotten to mention _those_ to me, so I'm incredibly grateful for sharing those… _charming_ snippets from my son's life." He grinned. "Now I know what to tease him about."

Drizzt glared daggers at him, his hand discreetly traveling to his pocket.

"I see that you're all getting along." He drawled through gritted teeth. "But I think that you haven't met the last of my friends. She was there for me ever since I left Menzoberranzan…"

The weapon master noticed that the rest of the group was exchanging sneaky looks and slowly edging away from him. He frowned, genuinely confused.

"I would like to introduce you to…"

 **xXx**

"Guenhwyvar!" Zak yelled, trying to crawl out from under the panther, who simply placed a paw between his shoulders to keep him in place and returned to grooming his hair with her tongue. At first, the panther was quite suspicious of that new, mysterious dark elf, who appeared out of nowhere. However, when she realized that he meant no harm to neither her master nor the rest of her companions, she decided to _tolerate_ him. Soon after that, he began to intrigue her, and after that, he became her new favourite playmate. (his opinion on that role was completely irrelevant)

"Drizzt, get your damned cat off me!"

The aforementioned ranger was unable to do that, of course, partly because even he wouldn't be able to distract Guen from whoever she chose as her playmate, but mostly because he was too busy laughing his head off.

"Listen up, you _shebali,_ if the cat won't get off me in the next five seconds, there _will_ be blood, mark my words!"

Just then, the panther calmly stood up and walked up to her master, sitting beside him and looking like an image of angelic innocence. Zak scowled.

Though he had to admit that, if this is how the future was looking, he couldn't really complain.

 **(A/N: That's the end! Sorry for the long wait, but I had no idea how to end this properly, and even now I'm not completely satisfied, but I figured that you shouldn't be kept waiting any longer. I hope that you enjoyed!)**


End file.
